Page 32 of Wicked Court

She jumps out of her skin before twisting.

Elara stiffens, the surprise fleeting before she composes herself. “Just some required reading for class.”

Her voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it, a defensiveness born of our unfamiliarity.

“Ah, the life of a diligent student.” I lean back slightly, feigning a casual interest. “But we both know the campus and this town offer more intriguing subjects than trust-fund elites and what’s found in ‘required reading.’”

Her eyes narrow, suspicion clouding the clear depths. “And what would you know about it, Kaspian?”

I smile, a slow, deliberate curve of my lips. “More than you might think.”

I pause, letting the words hang between us, charged with unspoken meaning. “There are legacies and secrets at Titan Falls that textbooks won’t tell you about.”

She looks away, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her features before she masks it with indifference.

“I’m sure there are,” she says, turning back to her book, but her fingers have stilled, betraying her pretense of reading.

Seizing the opportunity, I edge closer, lowering my voice. “A legacy that might interest you, given your ancestry.”

Elara’s hand tightens around the book, her knuckles whitening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She’s lying. Her voice betrays a hint of curiosity, a crack in her facade.

“I think you do,” I press, watching her closely. Wilder was right—Elara has at least some idea who she’s descended from. Whether she’s figured it out after our hints at the solstice party or she’s always known makes no difference to me.

I test her further. “Sarah Anderton’s journal speaks of a ruby Heart—a cursed one, at that. Sound familiar?”

Her eyes flick up to mine, sharp and assessing. “Why are you telling me this? None of the other guys have found it necessary to explain anything while they scared the shit out of me.”

She says it with a murmur, tinged with a mix of fear and fascination.

“They have their ways. I have mine, preferring to deal in information. But our goals are the same. We’re all entangled. Your ancestors, mine, theirs, we’re all at the heart of this curse. Pun intended.”

Her book shuts with a firm thwack. “I don’t believe in curses.”

Fuck, I’ve lost her.

But how? Every woman around here loves the idea of witches and hauntings and gloomy, foggy nights filled with obscure sex. It’s why more than a third of the world’s most powerful graduate from TFU. Few consequences, lots of fun, tons of dark corners to get away with murder in.

True, women have a higher attrition rate than men around here, the official statement being they’ve dropped out and couldn’t hack it. The more superstitious of the bunch say the dead witches have claimed them in the woods.

Obviously, both views are a load of horseshit.

The women are dead. Clearly.

Elara rises, drawing me further into my wonder. It never occurred to me that she shared my view of black magic being nonsense.

I can’t let her leave.

“Wait.” I reach out to grab her wrist.

Her head whips around, anger and resentment blazing in her eyes. “Get your hand off me.”

“I just want to talk?—”

“Then take your fucking hand off me and talk,” she hisses, yanking her wrist free from my grip. “Never put your hands on me again, understood? You all may be members of the Cimmerian Court, but that doesn’t give you or any other assholes the right to treat me like I’m yours for the taking!”

Her words freeze me in my thoughts, but I don’t let it show. “Touché. I apologize if I overstepped.”

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